Sofia Hever Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Charleroi

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

An evening with Alison Weir at Hever Castle

Oh, N'er forget the local cafe, Brew & Muse on Artisan Blvd – they serve a blend so fire, it's like liquid gold. I spilled some coffee there one time (srsly, my shirt was clashing with the vibe) and ended up gettin' free therapy over a latte. Total irony, right?

Inside the weird world of jousting – the medieval sport that's trying to get into the Olympics